


Geeks, Jocks, Gays and Straights

by Monsieur_Grenouille



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, M/M, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Sensitive Material, Suicide, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:27:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24645652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monsieur_Grenouille/pseuds/Monsieur_Grenouille
Summary: Love, pain, silence, and absence. Followed up by denial, hope, fear, and explanation.***TRIGGER WARNING! DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE TO MENTAL HEALTH ISSUES, SUICIDE, OR SELF-HARM! THIS IS A SERIOUS WARNING!***
Relationships: Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	Geeks, Jocks, Gays and Straights

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SnitchesAndTalkers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnitchesAndTalkers/gifts).



> LAST CHANCE TO BACK OUT! THERE ARE VERY TRIGGERING THINGS IN THIS WORK!
> 
> I know this isn't good enough for SnitchesAndTalkers, but I kind of used their writing as inspiration for this. I look up to them for their writing, and I've always wanted to gift something to them but I never thought I had something half worth gifting until this one. I hope you enjoy it, SnitchesAndTalkers :] :] :]

On Friday at the end of the day, Patrick walks up to Pete's locker and tugs at his friend's shirt. "Hey, um, remember this weekend when you said you wanted me to teach you how to play Dungeons and Dragons? Are we still up for that?" his eyes shine with hope. Pete's been teasing him about the D&D thing for a few years, but then one night he saw Patrick playing it with Ryan, Joe, and Gerard. He thought it was cool and asked Patrick about it the next day. Patrick promised to teach him the rules. 

Pete closes the door of his locker and looks to Patrick with a pained expression. "Damn, Patrick. I have a soccer tournament all weekend. I'll clear my schedule for next weekend, okay? My soul belongs to you then." 

Patrick's heart flutters with that quote. He knows Pete doesn't mean it the way he sees it, but it still makes him feel special. "Good luck with the soccer tournament," he says happily before turning around and beginning to walk away. Suddenly, a hand reaches out to grab the collar of his hoodie. 

"Hold on, Stumpy. You're not leaving me that easily." Pete pulls him back. "You can't just walk from your locker to mine to say two things. We gotta do something together." 

Patrick chuckles awkwardly. "Uh... like what?" he blushes and hopes it's not obvious that his mind has wandered. He clutches his books to his chest and adjusts his glasses. He's known to be the school's geek and the school's fag at the same time, so it would be setting the gay rights movement back fifty years if people knew he had a crush on his best friend, aka the soccer jock. 

Pete blows his dark bangs out of his eyes and leans against the locker nonchalantly. "Well, I don't know. Maybe you could hug me or something." 

Patrick scoffs. "I'm not going to get made fun of today." 

Pete groans. "Fine! I'll get made fun of, then." he places one of his arms on Patrick's back and the other under his knees. In one swift movement, Patrick is swept off the ground and into Pete's arms. 

Bridal style. Patrick blushes and sputters. "P-Pete! Stop! Someone's going to see." He flails his legs but still looks up to admire how close to Pete he is. This close, he can see the small bits of stubble that Pete forgot to shave off this morning. He can see Pete's sharp jaw, in contrast to his own. Pete, in general, is in contrast to him. So strong and handsome and popular... he's perfect. Patrick wants to kiss him until neither of them can breathe, or feel Pete on top of him, his shirt off and his whiskey eyes wide. Patrick closes his eyes to shut off his imagination. Pete picks up Patrick's satchel and slings it over his own shoulder. 

"We are walking home!" he announces proudly. He begins to walk out of the school, carrying Patrick like his new wife. Not a husband, since Pete was probably straight. All the handsome boys are straight. 

Near the entrance of the building, they come across Derek and Chet, the two worst people in the whole school, sitting outside on the bench. They torment Patrick on a daily--sometimes hourly--basis. "Hey, faggot!" Derek yells, "Is that your Grindr boyfriend?" 

Chet laughs, "Yeah! Does he fuck you like the gay slut you are?" 

Patrick hides his face in Pete's neck. "I'm sorry," he whispers. 

Pete nuzzles against him kindly. "You didn't do anything. I'll deal with this, Tricky." He walks towards Derek and Chet. Patrick keeps his head buried in Pete's neck for comfort. The scent of the other boy's pine needle cologne makes him weak. Being this close to Pete's neck was temptation's work at its finest. He wants to kiss it so much that it makes dark purple/red marks. He longs to nuzzle against it. He closes his eyes again to eliminate any impulses. The thought still burns in the back of his mind, but he decides to focus on what Pete's saying. 

"...Patrick's sexual orientation has nothing to do with you. It shouldn't matter unless you want to hook up with him, and even then he has standards. You need to man up and leave him alone. If I hear you torment him one more time, I'm going to get authorities involved. Got it?" He glances down at Patrick and kisses his forehead ever so lightly. It was more of a peck than anything, but it still makes Patrick feel good and respected. 

Derek scoffs and stands up from the bench. He whacks Patrick's arm harshly. "What're you going to do about that, huh?" he challenges, "Are you gonna fight me or are you gonna _get the authorities involved_? If you fight me, you might get kicked off the soccer team and lose popularity. You'll only have one person who likes you, and that's your faggot boyfriend who has the spine of an olm." 

Patrick shakes and squeaks from Pete's arms, "Let me down, Pete." Pete lets him down. Patrick walks up to Derek and stands on his toes to get eye level. "First of all," he hisses, "Olms are amphibians. They're similar to axolotls, but they're used to the dark, and look like fucking _dragons_! If I didn't know better, I'd think that you were trying to compliment me. But then again, you haven't seen the light of conversation for decades." 

Derek takes his hand and does the unexpected. He winds back, then slams Patrick across the face. Patrick yelps in agony and immediately retreats to Pete. He takes the jock's arm and clutches it to his chest, pale-faced and trying to seem tough. He didn't have it in him, though. The only harm he's ever done was to a pack of wolves in D&D. And what's he doing now, huh? Running to his friend after he got hurt because of something he wanted to take on. Tears welled from his eyes. Not because of the slap, but because he couldn't do anything on his own. He never could. He's always had Pete with him. 

When he was about to come out as gay to the whole school on Twitter, Pete stood next to him and helped him type out the message. That was one of the most personal things he's ever had to do, but he had Pete there like some second component to his physical form. Patrick is weak. He lost all independency the second he laid eyes on that rugged jock with the black bangs. He can't have Pete anymore. He has to do things by himself. He lets go of the older boy's arm and just walks away as if nothing had happened. He has to get away from here. 

Pete follows him worriedly, but Patrick shakes his head. "I'm just going to go think. I have to clear my mind. There's too much going on." 

Pete puts his hand on Patrick's shoulder. "Babe, do you need me to come with you?" 

Patrick blushes at the nickname. "I don't want anyone to come with me. I need to deal with my pain on my own. It's the only way to get over it." he looks at Pete with tears in his eyes. "I'm small, I'm gay, I'm depressed. Please leave me alone." 

Pete sighs, "I am not going to let my depressed friend be by himself. I don't know what he can do to himself if he tries." 

Patrick looks down at his hands. "Nothing," he says, "Your friend can't do anything. He's weak. And a coward. If he somehow gets the nerve to even touch a blade... he can finally get what he deserves." He tears apart from Pete and begins running to his car. Pete chases after him immediately. Being a soccer player, Pete was stronger and faster. He snatches Patrick's waist and doesn't let go. Patrick squirms. "Pete, stop," he grunts, "It's only going to be a few cuts. They'll heal by Wednesday." he turns his head around and accidentally leans his nose against Pete's. "Trust me," he whispers, "It won't be major. Just a few cuts to get through this. I'll stop after these two or three, okay?" 

Pete scoffs, "I can't believe you're trying to reason with me about this." 

"I could say the same about you. Just let me go home. I won't cut and I promise I'll call you if I get any thoughts." He holds up his cell for emphasis. Pete holds still for a second, then exhales defeatedly. 

"Okay, Patrick. I can't stop you. You _have_ to call me, though. There is no exception. If you don't reach out to someone, it's only going to get worse. I'm there for you." He hugs Patrick tighter than ever. "I love you." 

Patrick hugs back. "I love you too. I promise to call. Good luck with the soccer tournament." He splits away from Pete and gives him one last assuring glance before walking away to his car. The drive home is long and worrying, even if it was only five minutes. As soon as Patrick gets home, he runs to his room. He can't be alone, but he has to. He curls up on his bed and rocks back and forth. _Pete said to call. Pete said to call. I need to call him. I should call him._ he thinks to himself. His thoughts are so loud and his phone weighs down in his jeans. He has to do something. 

He starts shaking and sweating. His eyes dart around the room before landing on his desk. A pair of scissors seems to taunt him. Their gleaming metal blades invite him to ruin them. He longs to stain them with his blood. "No..." he whispers. He pulls on his hat to cover his eyes. Everything goes dark. He can't hear anything but his thoughts and drumming heartbeat. 

Patrick reaches down into his pocket and grabs his phone. He holds down the one until it rings. Pete answers immediately. "What's going on?" he asks urgently. 

Patrick sobs and clutches the small phone to his ear. "Help me," he shudders, "It's worse than I thought. I thought I would make it the first fifteen minutes, but there's a pair of scissors in my room and it's all I can think about." the geek hyperventilates into the phone. 

Pete tries to calm him down. "Hey... sh sh sh... it's okay. I'm here. I'm listening to you," he whispers calmly, "What I want you to do is this: get out of your room." 

Patrick sputters, "Wh-What?" 

Pete repeats himself. "Get out of your room. Go to wherever your parents are and do something with them. You can't be alone right now. Watch a movie. Just find something to distract yourself."

Patrick whimpers, "What if you just stay on the line?" 

"You're still alone, Patrick. You need physical assurance. I can call for a bit, but at some point, you need to go downstairs and talk to your parents. You don't have to talk about how you're feeling, but just get a distraction." Pete's voice is both loving and stern at the same time. Patrick swallows and nods. Tears still stream down his face and his thoughts still scream in his head. 

"P-Pete?" he squeaks, "Can you record something for me? A video or audio of you talking? You always make me happy and I really need something like that now. I need you to tell me that it's going to be okay but in a video that I can watch over and over. Do you understand?" he opens his eyes for a split second, then closes them again. The scissors are too close. "I love you, Pete. In a romantic way." 

Pete replies immediately. "I love you too, baby. You're my world. Don't pollute my world." He makes soft kissing noises from the other side. Patrick chuckles lightly. His fear begins to slip away the slightest bit, but it still echoes in his mind. Pete's in love with him, which makes him feel better. Pete sighs, "Are you okay, Patrick?" 

Patrick wipes his tears. "No," he admits, "I'm not. I want to die." 

Pete clears his throat. When he speaks, it's obvious he's crying. "P-Patrick, please don't. You're a really good guy and I love you. If there's anything I can do... anything at all... you just need to tell me. I'll drop everything for you. Even if it means I have to cancel the soccer tournament to make sure you don't kill yourself, I will. You mean the world to me and more. Please don't think you're in this alone, okay? It breaks my heart to even imagine life without you. If you're my boyfriend, I promise to be everything you need. Please, just don't kill yourself." 

Patrick stays quiet. It feels like Pete's lying, but Pete doesn't lie much nor does he cry much. He's being sincere. He cares. "My mind isn't in the right place for a boyfriend," Patrick admits, "I feel so bad for this but relationships are stressful and I love you but I just need to get my head in the right place." 

Pete doesn't respond negatively. He actually sounds proud. "Wonderful, Patrick," he says, "I'm glad you're setting boundaries. Still best friends though, right?" 

Patrick forces a laugh. "Y-Yeah. Best friends." He glances over to the scissors again and decides he can't fight the urge. "Sorry, Pete. Gotta go. Uh... my mom's calling for me." 

Pete replies calmly, "Bye, Patrick. I love you. Keep yourself busy and if you ever have thoughts, call me. I'll pick up the phone." 

Patrick feels the sweat on his shaking hands. "O-Okay. Love you, bye." He drops his phone onto his bed and walks over to his desk. He grabs the scissors, then rolls up his sleeve just enough to see his pale and gleaming wrist. Patrick separates the blades of the scissors, then places the cold metal onto his skin. The adrenaline rushes through him and he can't even process what he's doing until his hand moves and the scissor blade cuts deep into his skin. Pain snaps him to reality to look at what he's done to himself. He starts to panic but silences the voices with another cut right below the first one. He squeezes his eyes shut and begs himself to stop. 

_Stop. Pete would hate you. He'd leave you if he saw this. You're not supposed to cut. You're supposed to talk to someone. This shouldn't feel as good as it does._

But holy hell, it feels good. Like he's finally getting what he needs. The pain courses through him like blood, but the blood's appearing somewhere else. Patrick feels slightly lightheaded. His vision blurs after he puts the fifth cut on his second wrist. It went deeper than it should've. "Fuck..." he groans. Regret spells itself across the front of his mind. He's not just harming--he's about to die. He immediately drops the scissors to prevent further damage, then stumbles over to his bed before he loses all consciousness. 

* * *

"Patrick! Patrick, baby! Wake up, please!" Patrick's mom cradles him in her arms. Blood is everywhere--the sheets, Patrick's clothes, Ms. Stumph's clothes--and the teenager stirs subtly. 

He opens his eyes and almost closes them again, but then realizes what's wrong. His mom found out. She can see his wrists and how they've been cut raw. "M-Mom..." he mumbles, "Mom..." he reaches up to touch her face. He's extremely shaky and pale from passing out. He feels cold. "I...I didn't mean to pass out." 

Ms. Stumph weeps and hugs him close. "As long as you're okay." 

Patrick stares vacantly at the wall. "I'm not okay," he replies, "I'm this close to falling apart," he holds up his shaking fingers to barely touch. "See that?" he coughs, "I'm so close to abandoning this place. S-S-So close." 

His mom stares at him in shock. "I thought you were happy," she says, "You have your friends and Pete and the instruments you play... did anyone hurt you?" 

Patrick nods his head. "Myself. I have depression, I think. It's complicated. I really just have to talk to Pete. Is he here?" Patrick glances frantically around the room until his eyes eventually land upon the sobbing soccer jock in the corner of the room. Pete's black hair dangles in front of the hands covering his eyes as he looks defeated. Patrick tries to raise his voice, but it doesn't work much. He's just that weak. "P-Pete... Pete, I'm awake." he coughs and waves his hand lightly. 

Pete takes his hands away from his face and walks briskly over to them. He puts his hand on the side of Patrick's face and asks Ms. Stumph to leave. "It's serious," he says, "He needs me for this." He gives Ms. Stumph a hard glare until she gives Patrick to him and walks out of the room. Pete moves so that he and Patrick are under some blankets. Patrick stares up at the ceiling as Pete lays on his side and watches. "I should've been with you," he whispers, "I shouldn't have let you go home by yourself. What was I thinking?" he scoffs and traces lines on Patrick's chest with his fingers. It's calming. 

Patrick whispers, "Is there any Tylenol?" 

Pete nods and slips him two white tablets. "Your mom said that she doesn't want you to take any pain medication for this, but I know you need it more than anything right now. How are you feeling?" 

Patrick swallows the acetaminophen tablets one by one with his saliva. "I...I feel like an idiot," he whispers, "I should've talked to you." He blinks tears out of his eyes and reaches down to hold Pete's hand. "I lied to you and then almost killed myself." 

Pete shushes him and curls around him tighter. "Don't start," he murmurs, "Please. You really need to love yourself as much as I love you." 

Patrick shudders from the crying. "Pete, I'm still sorry. You said you couldn't imagine life without me. You said so yourself. And without even thinking I whacked at my wrists. There's blood everywhere and it's all my fault. I'm sorry, Pete." He looks down at his wrists and almost throws up. They've been destroyed. Some big cuts, some small cuts, some deeper than others. One that sticks out is the large red line with blood still leaking. It's right on his wrist, the spot that can get you killed. "I need to wrap these up," he mentions, then starts to stand up to get a bandage. Blood rushes to his head and immediately he passes out again. Pete tucks him back into the bed and goes to get bandages. 

When he comes back with gauze and antibiotic, he kneels on the bed and picks up Patrick's arm to begin treating it. As he applies antibiotic to the bandage and wraps it around the scars, he begins singing quietly. He knows he can't sing for shit, but Patrick would do the same for him. 

" _I'm a loose bolt of a complete machine  
What a match, I'm half doomed and you're semisweet...  
__Boycott love, detox just to retox  
And I'll promise you anything for another shot at life.   
Imperfect boys with their perfect ploys.   
Nobody wants to hear you sing about tragedy._" 

Pete leans down to kiss at Patrick's forehead. He's so pretty... if only he could realize how beautiful he is, how smart he is, and how when he just walks into the room, everyone becomes a little less stressed. He's just fun to be around, you know? He's just one of those people. "Patrick," he whispers, "It's going to be okay. I know you can't hear me because you're unconscious, but it's going to be okay. Trust me." He kisses the top of Patrick's bandage and curls up next to him afterward. He promises himself he won't leave Patrick, even if it costs him the world. Not after something like this. 

* * *

Patrick becomes distant over the next few months. After lying to Pete, he wants to live with himself even less, and after worrying his mom like that, he wants to be around others less. The fewer bridges he has, the fewer people he can disappoint. He stops raising his hand in class, he stops playing D&D on the weekends, and he stops depending on Pete for comfort. In his mind, he doesn't deserve comfort. His teachers ask him if he's okay and he always says the same thing: "I'm just a little tired."

Pete asks him the same thing. Patrick wants so desperately to run into Pete's arms and cry about how he's only getting worse, but he doesn't. Pete has to believe he's okay. "I'm fine, Pete," he says, "I just need some time to think." 

"What kind of thoughts?" Pete asks. 

Patrick turns away and stutters. "I-I-I-I don't want to talk about it." 

"Why?" 

"I'd just disappoint you. You helped me stay alive that one time, and you shouldn't have to worry anymore. I'm okay, Pete." 

Pete shakes his head. "I don't believe you." 

Patrick walks forward and does the riskiest thing he's ever done. He puts one hand behind Pete's neck and the other behind Pete's back. He pulls the jock down a bit until their foreheads are together, then he closes the space between them. Both of them have their eyes open at first, but eventually, they close them. Pete's hands wander to Patrick's waist to tug him close. Everything seems to shift into place for those few moments. Patrick gets the feeling that this is how it's supposed to be; this is the way he can save himself. The thought hits him that Pete might not feel the same way, making him resign from the touch. "I... I don't believe me either," he murmurs. 

Pete takes his hand and slides his fingers up into Patrick's shirtsleeves, feeling the fabric of the bandages. At least they were kept on. "Please call me if it gets bad," he states firmly. 

Patrick sighs and slips his hand away. "I'm sorry, Pete," he says, "We're past that point." He adjusts his backpack and walks out of the school building. Pete watches him go. He's about to chase after him and never let go, but he feels a hand on his shoulder. 

"You're still here, Wentz," states the voice of his gym teacher, "Why aren't you gone yet?" 

Pete turns around with a heavy expression. "I don't know, Coach. I've been wondering the same thing." He pulls his hood over his head, then walks in the opposite direction of Patrick. The bridge connecting him and Patrick seemed to be made up of titanium, the metal that can never be burned. But sometimes the metal that can't be burned is the one that turns brittle and breaks down when times get cold. 

When Patrick gets home, he tears off his bandages and makes the final cuts on his arms, going deeper than ever before. His mom gets home later that night, but he's gone by then. His cold, lifeless body lays on the ground. On a piece of paper next to him, he wrote, "If you think this is giving up, just remember I had nothing to give in the first place." Ms. Stumph finds it, then immediately calls Pete. She gets no answer. 

Why? 

Pete stands on the edge of the overpass, staring down at the cars racing below. He's had enough. Losing Patrick meant losing himself, so the only salvation would be a finishing move. Eyes closed, heart racing, knuckles white, he braces himself and loses his grip. When the last bridge gets burned, it leaves you all alone. The only way to get across is to jump. 

**Author's Note:**

> Please get help if you are experiencing mental health issues. You matter. Every single human has a purpose, and if you manage to make it through, you can look back and see how far you've come. I am very much open to discussion, so if you need someone to talk to, drop off a comment. I care about each and every one of you, and I believe there is hope for everyone.


End file.
